Nightwalker (Harrison Investigation #8)

Nightwalker (Harrison Investigation #8) Page 26

They had coffee, he fed Clancy, and then they left. He opted to wait in the living room at her house, afraid that neither one of them would be able to resist temptation if he went into the bedroom while she changed, and they didn’t have that kind of time.

At the home, she directed him straight to Timothy’s building.

Timothy was waiting for them in the breakfast room, sipping coffee and nibbling on a piece of toast as he read the paper.

“Good morning,” Jessy said, dipping down to plant a kiss on his head before taking the chair next to him and gesturing toward Dillon. “I’ve brought a friend to meet you.”

Timothy stared at Dillon with interest, smiling slowly and reaching out a hand.

“I knew you would be coming to see me.”

“This is Dillon, Timothy. You’re meeting him for the first time,” Jessy explained.

“Oh. Well, sit down and join us. The buffet here is simple but good,” Timothy said politely.

Jessy had gotten her incredible blue eyes from Timothy, Dillon thought, though the older man’s were fading a bit now. His Indian heritage was visible in his angled cheekbones, he still sported a full head of white hair, and his posture was ramrod straight.

“Thank you,” Dillon told him, surprised at the strength of the old man’s grip.

“I’ll get us some coffee,” Jessy said to Dillon. “What else would you like? Toast? Croissant? Bagel?”

“Toast, thanks,” Dillon said.

Timothy hadn’t taken his eyes off Dillon. “Ute?” he asked. “Sioux? No, you’re Paiute, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Dillon agreed.

Jessy returned to the table balancing plates of buttered whole wheat toast and packets of jelly on one arm, and carefully holding two coffee mugs by their handles in the other hand. Dillon rose quickly and took one, thanking her.

Timothy was still eyeing him, now with what seemed to be approval, Dillon thought. Good. It was important for this man to like him.

“It was a Paiute shaman, Wovoka, who first spoke of the ghost dancers. He founded the movement,” Timothy said.

It was apparent from the look on her face that Jessy was unhappy with her grandfather’s preoccupation with the ghost dancers, and her words only confirmed that impression. “Timothy, I know you want me to be proud of your father’s people, and I am, but—”

“She doesn’t like it that I see the dancers,” Timothy explained to Dillon.

“I just don’t understand why you’re so pleased to see them, as if you think they mean something good. Think about it.” She turned to Dillon as if asking for support. “I suppose you know all about them. How they danced themselves into a frenzy and made people believe they could wear special shirts that would protect them from bullets. Wovoka said that he saw his dead ancestors, and that they told him they could wipe the white man from the land. And you know what came of that? Sitting Bull’s death and the massacre at Wounded Knee.” She looked pleadingly at Timothy again. “The ghost dancers were a resistance movement—a failed resistance movement—and it was a long time…ago.”

“Time means nothing,” Timothy said, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re missing the point, my dearest granddaughter.” He nodded at Dillon, as if convinced that he understood. “What was important was that the western tribes learned to speak to those who had gone before. A new tradition was begun. The Ghost Dance was a gift. In any society there are those who believe and those who don’t. To this day, our people do the Ghost Dance.”

“For tourist dollars,” Jessy said.

Timothy laughed. “But it’s all right to dress up like a pirate for those same tourist dollars?”

Jessy flushed. “It’s just a show.”

“And to some the Ghost Dance is just a show. But to others it’s as real now as it was in Wovoka’s day. I only wish that you would see, that you would understand. That you would believe.”

Jessy hesitated. “Timothy, you see a different world than I do.”

Timothy shook his head and addressed Dillon again. “The dancers in the wall told me that you would come. That you’re here because Jessy is in danger.”

“Timothy…” Jessy protested.

But Timothy was looking at Dillon, who smiled slowly. Timothy had known. Whether he had a sixth sense that informed him of danger or really had spoken to men in the walls, somehow he had known, and he seemed as sane a man as any as he spoke to. “She will find her strength, but she will need you, too.”

Suddenly he looked away, frowning, as if distracted.

After a moment he looked up at Jessy. “Granddaughter, will you get me more coffee?”

She cast a speaking glance at Dillon, but she took Timothy’s mug and headed for the buffet.

As soon as she left the table, Timothy turned to Dillon. He was more than distracted. He was upset. “They know. They know she was there.”

“Who? Who knows she was there?” Dillon asked him.

“I don’t know their names. I don’t know what they look like. But Billie Tiger just spoke to me. He was here with Wovoka, then lost his life at Wounded Knee.”

Dillon hesitated, worried that Timothy had lost touch with reality after all.

Then the old man’s hand fell over Dillon’s, and his grip was steely. “They know that she can see spirits, and they will come after her. You are her guardian now. You must take care of her.”

Jessy heard the last as she approached the table, and she tossed her hair behind her shoulder as a cross look rose to her face. She sat down and took Timothy’s hands, forcing him to look at her.

“Timothy, no one has to look out for me. I’m always careful.”

Timothy shook his head. “They are assembling. And once they are all together, they will recreate what happened long ago.”

“Timothy, here’s your coffee,” Jessy said.

The look in her eyes was distressed, and Dillon knew she was worried that Timothy’s mind was going. He wasn’t so sure.

He offered her a small smile, hoping she would realize he was telling her not to worry.

“Timothy, who is assembling?” Dillon asked.

“I don’t know who they are, but Billie Tiger said they were there before the Ghost Dance. The civil war was over, and the white men were looking to the West, to the territories. Many were desperate. Others were getting rich on the backs of others.”

Jessy touched his cheek soothingly. “It’s all right, Timothy. The world hasn’t exactly been fixed, but it’s a whole lot better. And a lot of people say the Indian casinos are the tribes’ way of getting revenge on the white men.”

Timothy shook his head to dismiss her words, then stared at his coffee. “There’s no cream,” he said.

“Oh, sorry,” Jessy said, and got up again.

“Timothy, you were saying?” Dillon prompted as soon as she was gone.

Timothy stared at him blankly. “I said there was no cream.”

“No, before that. What were you saying about the ghost dancers and Billie Tiger and things happening again?”

“Oh, the ghost dancers. Sometimes they’re in the walls. Sometimes, if you look hard, you can see them in the sky. I really need cream in my coffee,” he said, sighing.

Dillon sat back. Whatever Timothy might have had to say, it was lost now, and it was impossible to tell whether he really had some kind of an occult connection or if disease was destroying his mind.

Jessy returned and Timothy smiled broadly as he poured the cream into his coffee, then waved to an attractive older woman across the room. She joined them, and he introduced her as Mrs. Teasdale. The conversation was light and casual after that. Apparently Jessy had promised to take the older couple on an outing, and Mrs. Teasdale was glad—she simply did not go out alone, not even to the mall, not with “the way things are these days.”

A little while later Jessy said that they needed to leave so she could get to the casino and start getting ready to go onstage. She was silent in the car, and when he glanced her way, she flashed him a troubled smile, then turned away to look out the window.

“He wasn’t well today,” she said sadly, still looking out at the scenery.

“Actually, I thought he seemed pretty lucid. Believe me, I’ve seen a lot worse.”

She turned and met his eyes. “I’m sorry. Do you have relatives who…are elderly?”

“Not really. I’ve just been around,” he told her. “I’ve dealt with the elderly in my investigations,” he explained. He decided this wasn’t the time to tell her that sometimes, when people thought the elderly were crazy, they were just closer to the door that separated one world from the next.

“He’s okay,” he told her, reaching out to pat her knee. “Honestly.”

“You know, I was scared—okay, terrified—when I kept seeing Tanner Green, and I’m very grateful to you for helping me understand what’s going on, but no one has to watch out for me. It’s very strange. Now that I know I’m not crazy. I’m not terrified of seeing Tanner Green again. In fact, I’m going to tell him—if he gets close enough—that I will try to help him.” She was silent for a long moment. “And Rudy, too. Though I never met him, so why he’s appearing to me, I have no clue. Oh, Lord. I sound crazy, don’t I? Maybe I shouldn’t be so worried about Timothy.”

“It’s all going to be all right,” he assured her. “So will you still be okay if I drop you off at the casino and then do a few things on my own today?” he asked her.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, flashing a smile. “I swear. I don’t plan to ruin your life.”

He looked straight out the window. “Trust me. You aren’t ruining my life.”

She was silent for a moment. “Do you want to stay at my house tonight? Tanner Green might show up.”

He tried not to smile too broadly. “Sure. Sounds good to me. Hey, if I wind up getting back into town late tonight and can’t—”